


Imprint

by CosmicZombie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15.20 coda, Emotional Fluff, Fix-It, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicZombie/pseuds/CosmicZombie
Summary: The first and last memories Dean has of Cas are the same: a strong, tight grip burning into Dean’s shoulder like sun.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 145





	Imprint

**Author's Note:**

> Despite having been a big Supernatural fan for the past decade, this is actually the first Destiel fic I've posted, so it's long overdue! It was meant to be a quick fix-it coda to comfort me after the trainwreck that was the finale (I'm not sure I'll ever not be mad about what they did to Cas and Dean), but it ended up being this 1,000 piece instead that just kinda flowed out. Any feedback (or commiserating with me about the finale) would be incredible <3

The first and last memories Dean has of Cas are the same: a strong, tight grip burning into Dean’s shoulder like sun. 

Dean remembers staring uncomprehendingly at the raised welts it had left after he crawled out of the pit all those years ago; remembers the fear and wonder he’d felt as he traced the imprint of Cas’s hand. Of course, he hadn’t known it was Cas then. By the time he knew, the mark was already softening, melting into the rest of his skin, becoming part of him. 

He wishes Cas had left a mark on him the last time he touched him, not just blood on fabric, but something on his skin, etched onto him. A piece of him left that Dean could cling to. Dean remembers staring uncomprehendingly at the bloodied handprint on his jacket; remembers feeling no wonder, just fear. 

After Cas has gone, he often places his hand over the space there. It becomes a habit he stops noticing, a way of soothing himself when nothing else can, when he’s lost, afraid of his own reflection as though he can see the memories etched into his skin. There’s nothing there now, when he looks, just pores that Cas once put back together.

Dying hurts, but there’s a relief to it too, like letting out an exhale you’ve been holding in for too long. 

Dean’s first impression of heaven is that it is cold, and lonely. The starry sky is beautiful, but it makes him feel empty. He wonders if Cas felt the same, all those eons he spent here before he knew Dean. The thought makes Dean’s throat ache, his eyes burn until the night sky blurs. He rubs a hand subconsciously over his shoulder, holds it like he’s giving himself a one-armed hug. He closes his eyes against the constellations, remembers. 

Time passes. And then – something about the intensity of the silence lessens, like he isn’t the only one breathing it anymore. 

The touch that presses over his hand is warm and real, nothing like heaven. A strong, rough palm covering Dean’s grip on his shoulder, burning like sun.

Dean’s eyes snap open, air catches painfully in his lungs.

“Hello, Dean.”

Everything crumbles. He would know that voice, that touch anywhere. He turns, and the blue of Cas’s eyes makes the colours of heaven irrelevant.

“Cas,” he chokes out, “ _Cas_.” He wants to seize Cas, crush him in a hug and never let go, tell him all the things he never got to over and over again, but he can only stare. His universe tilts on its axis, the heat of Cas’s hand the only thing grounding him to here, now.

“I’m here, Dean,” Cas says, low and gravelly, familiar in a way that makes Dean’s soul ache. Cas’s gaze holds Dean’s as securely as his hand holds Dean’s on his shoulder, quiet, steady, waiting. _God_ , how he’s waited. Dean feels the weight of it welling up in his chest like a dam has burst, feels the lump in his throat sear and his eyes burn. 

“Cas, I never got to say – the things I wanted to, the things I should have said,” Dean can hear the way the words shake as he speaks, scared of them even now, even now they’re both dead. He swallows, tries to focus on Cas, because he matters so much more than fear. “I shouldn’t have made you wait, Cas, I made you wait so long, and I never said anything.”

“I never needed any more of you than exactly what you were, Dean,” Cas says, quiet, and Dean can see the love in his gaze, knows he means it utterly and completely. The thought makes the wetness that’s stinging his gaze spill down his cheeks. He lets it fall.

“But,” he takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself, “I wanted to give you more, Cas, I always wanted to – I just didn’t think – I always thought it was impossible, I always told myself you didn’t feel the way you do.” Dean swallows, “Because how could you? You’re this incredible angelic being and I’m – _me_ , goddamn it.”

“I know who you are,” Cas says, warmly, and Dean knows that he does, knows that Cas understands him better than anyone else ever could. Knows that Cas put him back together, pore by pore, freckle by freckle, that Cas knows the pattern of his ribs and the colour of his soul. The thought of being known so completely and so intimately had terrified him once, but he finds it comforts him now, under the vast canopy of stars.

“Then you’ll know that the reason I didn’t say anything when you – when you told me, before you –” Dean has to take a moment, swallow again, because he’s never talked about it out loud, has never been able to all these years. He focuses on the combined pressure of their hands on his shoulder, steadies himself, “Before you left – it wasn’t because I didn’t have anything to say, Cas,” Dean breathes out, “Goddamn it, I had so much to say. I still do.”

“Then say it,” Cas is looking at him, eyes earnest, so blue. Dean thinks he catches a glimmer of hope in them, so beautiful it makes his soul ache.

“Cas,” Dean shakes his head, overwhelmed by the same fear and wonder that had coursed through him the first time he looked at that handprint on his shoulder, “I love you.”

Cas’s eyes are no match for the skies of heaven. “Dean.”

“I _love_ you, Cas,” Dean says, because it’s wonderful to say it, better than breathing. “God, I love you.” He reaches up with his free hand and touches Cas’s jaw. Cas looks at him like he’s looking at everything in the whole universe all at once, and then they’re kissing and there's no fear, just wonder. Dizzying, pure elation. Like breathing after years underwater, like the feel of the sun on skin after a lifetime of night. Cas’s mouth is heat and oblivion. His hand grips Dean’s, both of them covering the space on his shoulder that once bore Cas’s angelic imprint. Dean can feel the warmth of their hands together, the heat of Cas’s skin over the space that has always been his.

Dean thinks, as they kiss under the ancient constellations, it doesn’t need a mark anymore. Not now, not after all these years. They both know the truth.


End file.
